2 Questions

A wave of irradiated wind invaded the isolated avenue as he stood up, looking into the depths of the exhausted Indian streets. He knew it wouldn´t be long until he was submerged within the darkness of the night. The dampness of the intoxicated air covered the outside of his rotting body, suffocating his ragged throat.

He quickly glanced at the consumed hospital and continued his path into the old town, searching for a place to take refuge from the approaching night.

He entered one of the first buildings he could find, making sure to silently open and close the front door, trying to be as discreet as possible. "Aashlok Fortis", he repeated to himself in an effort to calm his racing heart. It was one of the first things he had read on one of the many destroyed posters that surrounded him when he woke up in the hospital, and it brought him a sense of peace to remember it, as if being able to recognise words was the only connection to humanity that was left within him.

How long had he been asleep?

The last thing he remembered was an overpopulated market, which was full of smells and sounds which reminded him of his childhood in Noida. He remembers how his mother used to warn him about the traffic in the narrow streets, and the static from the broken TV which accompanied his nights and days. He remembers working in one of the corner shops for an entire summer. He remembers his first kiss, his friends and school.

"Aashlok Fortis", he repeats to himself as his eyes close before the incoming darkness.